


Held

by TheLadyMagician



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Five Times, Fluff, M/M, Mostly fluff though, Poetry, Violence, connected oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:43:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMagician/pseuds/TheLadyMagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Cullen and Dorian held one another and one time where they fell together. </p><p>Written for the Cullrian mini-bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

Dorian is rather fond of Haven. It's quaint and has a bar where the people only sneer at him half of the time, which is a triumph in Dorian's books. Maker knows that Redcliffe had been quite a bit less friendly, but he supposes Alexius may have more to do with that than him.

But like all things Dorian is rather fond of, Haven simply can't last. So when the army of Templars, Venatori, demons, and a fucking dragon descend on Haven, Dorian's terrified, true, but a piece of him knew it was bound to happen.

The Herald runs about with Bull, Cassandra, and Solas as they take the heart of the demons. Dorian ushers whatever civilians he can find towards the Chantry and they're in enough of a panic to not realize that their help comes in the form of the evil Tevinter Magister. It may not be the heart of the demons, but Dorian kills whatever stragglers he can find and it’s more than enough. Varric and Sera look to be doing much the same and send civilians towards Dorian as he gets closer to the Chantry.

"Sparkler!" Varric calls up to Dorian as he sends another bolt into a demon. "There's an assload of demons headed up the hill. Buttercup and I'll cut off the gates, but Curly might need some help at the doors."

"Let a few through for us, hm? Can't have you having all the fun," Dorian says as he makes for the hill. If the dwarf says anything, it's lost in the cacophony of battle as Dorian casts a fireball at the pack of demons in front of him.

'Assload' isn't a great form of measurement, but Dorian's inclined to agree to Varric's assessment. The Commander stands at the doors of the Chantry, frightened citizens running behind him as he hacks away at demon after demon. Cullen is drenched in blood and holding a shield that seems like it's larger than him, but if any of these things fatigue the Commander, he doesn’t show it.

Dorian freezes a few demons to the Commander's left, more in an announcement of his presence than anything else. Cullen swings out his shield and shatters the iced-over demons, nodding his head to Dorian in greeting. "Good to see you, Lord Pavus."

"Of course it is," Dorian replies as he sends a bolt of lightning at the closest demons. It gives the Commander a bit of breathing room and a clearer path for the civilians. "Varric promised to send some our way, though I'm not sure the Herald will let any get that far."

Cullen snorts and gives Dorian a smile, apparently unconcerned with the demonic blood staining his skin. "It's Cassandra that you have to worry about."

"She does seem to run on the bloodthirsty side, doesn't she? At any rate, I am yours to command, Commander."

"I've got soldiers and Blackwall in the Chantry, Vivienne and that Cole thing at the north road keeping it clear for civilians. I can keep the demons off the civilians if you take the south and keep the damned things at a distance."

"Is that all?" Dorian asks with a grin as he centers himself. Distance fighting was a mage's specialty, after all, though Dorian was also proficient at the art of hitting things with a staff until they fell. At least, that's what Felix called it and Dorian is rather fond of the title.

Cullen makes good on his word. No demon or Venatori get within ten feet of a civilian, though the numbers seem to be dwindling the more time passes. Either they were cut down in Haven--a thought Dorian refuses to entertain--or they are all within the Chantry's hall.

It's almost enough to make Dorian forget that there's a giant darkspawn and his darkspawn demon dragon until the trickle of demons and Venatori turn into an all out horde. Cullen falls back to Dorian's side as the pair stand in front of the Chantry doors.

"Quite a bit more than the few I asked for," Dorian says as Cullen stands at his shoulder. The Commander gives a quiet laugh as he readjusts the sword in his hand. "At the very least, we can lessen the numbers for Blackwall," Dorian says as Cullen stands at his shoulder. "Give the Herald time to deal with the blasted dragon."

"Keep them off the doors as long as you can with whatever you need," Cullen says as he straightens his spine and braces the shield against him.

Dorian casts a barrier over the pair of them, watching Cullen tense but the ex-Templar merely nods without looking back towards Dorian as he charges into the front-line of the battle. It gives Dorian the time he needs for a more complicated spell. Even the basest of Fereldan Circle mages could cast fireballs all day but there were very few outside blood mages who could raise more than a few corpses and control them all at once.

Cullen moves amidst the demons and Venatori as if the man is made for battle, and Dorian suspects he actually might be. He's seen Cassandra, Bull, and Blackwall fight but they don't have the same fluidity that Cullen seems to possess. Cassandra and Bull rush in without thought, Cassandra because she simply can take the damage and need not worry, Bull because he's Bull. Blackwall fights with a certain amount of hesitation, as if he's apologetic for every blow. Until a certain point.

But Cullen makes every move count. There's nothing flashy about it--a shame, in Dorian's mind--but he balances defense with offense effortlessly. The barrier Dorian cast means most blows glance off of Cullen, but there are few that actually make it that far. Dorian's thralls hack and slash away as the Commander fells every foe he faces, an effective means of crowd control. Dorian's showing off and he stills feels like Cullen is besting him that department. A rather unwelcome thought.

Blackwall is completely unneeded, as Dorian had suspected he would be. By the time the last Venatori falls, hacked to bits by one of his possessed brethren, Cullen and Dorian are covered head to toe in blood. Dorian can feel it in his moustache and try as he might, it simply sticks to his skin.

"There'll be more," Cullen says as steps over the multitudes of corpses staining the snow. His hair is curled slightly from the blood, the moisture pulling away at some of the styling the Commander must do to it. "He can still bury Haven with that damned dragon."

"Pity Cassandra isn't a dragon-slayer like the rest of her family."

"Can you defend the doors?"

"As I said, I'm yours to command."

Cullen nods and gives the wreckage of Haven a solemn glance, the fire eating away at the houses and the moving torchlights that extend impossibly far into the mountain. Dorian grips his staff and swallows, nodding back to the Commander as he readies a fireball on his staff for when those torchlights reach him. "You won't let them through," Cullen says as he finally looks back at Dorian.

"Certainly not. I've a date with some fine Tevinter wine that Lavellan placed in the tavern for me. Certain death is going to have to try a lot harder than this to get me to miss that."

Cullen smiles at the mage and rushes into the Chantry doors. With his free hand, Dorian casts a barrier on himself and those wooden doors, maintaining his fireball all the while.

  
_ Though perhaps not  _ _** too ** _ _ much harder, _ Dorian thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!


	2. Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

Dorian knows the second the piece of paper touches his hands what it says. It's not the overly elegant and fine paper Maevaris uses, nor is it the thin sketching paper that Felix uses when he forgets to switch to writing paper after he's been sketching for hours. It's heavy and official and reeking in enough pretentiousness that Dorian knows it comes from a magister. A friend, but a magister nonetheless.

** It is good to hear you are still well, friend. I wish I had better news to give you, but Felix... ** and Dorian doesn't have to read the rest to know what it says. Maker, he didn't even have to open it, but there was that slight chance. The barest of chances that he'd get good news from his homeland. Impossible odds, but Dorian was all about impossible odds.

Felix had always been on borrowed time anyway. Dorian knew he was going to die. He'd had years to come to terms with his friend's death before it even happened, months before he even fled from Qarinus. And Felix was in poor shape. The sickness had hurt him tremendously and perhaps the elongation of his life had only added to that misery. Death, when it came, may have been a blessing.

Though no matter how many times these thoughts enter his mind, none of them stick. The fact is that Felix, one of the best people Dorian had ever met, is dead on a fluke attack of darkspawn. Meanwhile, Dorian faces demons, darkspawn, and Venatori and here he still stands.

The Maker certainly has a terrible sense of humor.

Dorian folds the letter in his hand and flees the library. Well, it looks far more dignified than fleeing, but Dorian is honest enough with himself to know that's exactly what he’s doing. When Dorian studied under Alexius's care, he barely left the library of the estate. Felix always went to him in the library without complaining to sneak Dorian treats and food when Dorian forgot to eat. It isn’t exactly where he wants to be in this moment.

Dorian's feet lead him to the garden. He can’t go to the tavern, it was too bright and happy for him. He can’t go to his room, wallowing in misery was too great a temptation when alone. The garden seems like the best option, or so his feet think.

The garden is bright and silent. The Chantry sisters spare him a venomous glance and Dorian wonders what rumors were circling about him now. The last one of him spanking Blackwall over the Inquisitor's throne was laughable and Dorian's willing to bet money Sera started it.

Whatever the rumor, it must be particularly good as the sisters all turn from him when he enters. Except Mother Giselle, of course. Though Dorian's not sure her withering gaze is any better.

Dorian takes a seat at an empty chess table and tilts his head back, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. The letter is still heavy in his hand, the words dance in Dorian's mind even though he hadn't read them. Passed away, they would say. Dead is too heavy of a word. They'd make it sound like Felix had simply fallen asleep and stayed that way because they didn't know any better. They didn't see Felix while he was sick, staring off in the distance as he mutely clawed at his throat. Not the fainting, the blood he coughed up, the resigned and hollow look in his eyes as Alexius's was taken away in chains knowing what his father did in his name. In his love.

"Do you play?" asks a voice and Dorian lowers his head from his sunbathing to look at the Commander. Cullen and he hadn't spoken since Haven and it's no wonder. Cullen has been trying to get Skyhold into prime shape and when Dorian isn’t researching for the Inquisition, he’s off with the Inquisitor to kill his fellow countrymen.

Dorian blinks down at the chess table before registering what Cullen is asking. "I do," Dorian says simply.

"Care for a game?" Cullen asks so innocently, so Maker damned earnestly. As if he has no idea that there are Chantry sisters watching the entire exchange with judgmental eyes and whispers behind hands.

Dorian should say 'no' for a myriad of reasons, but Dorian challenges anyone to look at Cullen's golden eyes and tell the man 'no.' Maker above, Dorian doesn't need to deal with the sad mabari eyes that the Commander will send his way. He'd rather deal with the ire of the Chantry sisters.

"So long as you accept my inevitable victory, Commander."

"Forceful words from a man who was overrun by a ram," Cullen says with a laugh as he takes the seat opposite Dorian.

"Kaffas, did Lavellan put that in her report? I wanted to kill the ram, but no. Apparently 'Lord Woolsley' is afforded Lavellan's mercy." Dorian sets his letter down and helps Cullen set the board. Dorian hasn't played chess since he was a boy and his father demanded he have a mind built for strategy. A necessity, he said, of an Archon.

Ha! If only magister Halward Pavus could see him now. Playing chess with the ex-Templar Commander of the Inquisition who is so quintessentially Fereldan that the entire country may as well be named after Cullen. Oh, if only to see the look on his father's face. He’d pay more than what he had for that glorious moment.

"The Inquisitor said it took a liking to you," Cullen says as he makes his move. Dorian moves without thought in retaliation. The first moves of chess are always so boring, so unnecessary. "She would have brought it to Skyhold if she wasn't afraid of you lighting it on fire and having the cook serve it to her."

"A threat I meant to follow through with, I assure you, Commander."

The chess game follows in companionable small talk, the Commander looks about the garden a few times as if he is looking for something. Dorian suspects it's probably Cullen's way of looking nonchalant. The man makes a terrible spy, so why in Andraste's name send him to spy on Dorian? That's the only reason Dorian can entertain for why Cullen suddenly sought him out in the garden.

Oh well, let the poor man try to be sly. Dorian doesn't have anything to hide, regardless. If Lavellan's word on his character wasn't enough for some people, Dorian doubts anything ever will be.

"What's the parchment for?" Cullen asks as he makes a move that Dorian suspects will lead him to winning the game.

Dorian passes over the letter without much thought. He'll have to tell Lavellan eventually, anyway. It's not as if the Commanded knowing will do anything that wouldn't have already happened. "A letter about Felix. Alexius's son. He's dead."

"I'm sorry," Cullen says as he takes the letter from Dorian to read it over. "He spoke to the Magisterium for us?"

"Did he?" Dorian asks. He moves his Divine a few spaces forward, a sacrifice play Cullen would have to be a fool to fall for, but it's the only option left to Dorian. "That does seem like the sort of thing Felix would do."

"You didn't read it?"

"It has little to tell me that I don't already know. Felix was sick, the Blight you know, and on borrowed time. Too much borrowed time. His father did what he could to extend Felix's life, but there's only so much magic can do."

"You sound like you were close to him."

"He was the best Thedas had to offer. We need more people like Felix, ones who put the needs of others above the needs of themselves."

Dorian doesn't doubt that Felix stood on the floor of the Magisterium and spoke passionately of the Inquisition and the good they were doing. He was always good on his word. Maybe it was just Dorian who'd forgotten what people like that were like.

"Were you two, uh...?" Cullen can't finish the question, the red of a blush creeps along Cullen's neck before resting rather prominently on his cheeks.

Dorian raises an eyebrow at the rather fetching blush Cullen sports. "Felix and I? What an odd question, but no. As I said, Felix was the best of what Thedas had to offer and while I've not had a pristine reputation in that regard, I was not going to corrupt him."

"Would you like to talk about him?" Cullen asks, those golden eyes giving Dorian that earnest look once more and Dorian's not sure what to do with it.

Dorian moves his pawn forward, encroaching on the Commander's king while leaving his own vulnerable. "An excuse to talk the Commander of the Inquisition's ear off? Surely you have more pressing matters to attend."

"Not at present." Cullen pulls back his knight to defend his king from Dorian's lone pawn.

Dorian speaks of Felix sneaking him food and of Dorian sneaking Felix out from under his father's nose in the middle of the night. They went to the feet of the Juggernauts in Minrathous and drank wine until the sun rose. The both of them had been barely able to walk when Alexius finally found them and Felix had made Dorian swear that next they would sit at the door of the Argent Spire and drink until the Archon cast them out himself.

Alexius had made sure to tighten security after the Juggernauts so that trip never happened, but Felix would often joke that if Dorian were as strong as he said, he could make it work. Dorian would tell him that if he could sneak around without being seen, there'd be a few places he'd like to visit more than the Argent Spire.

Cullen listens intently, asking questions about Minrathous that a basic book could answer, so Dorian doesn't feel as if he's spreading any secrets about his homeland. The Commander is interested in the Juggernauts especially, but that's not exactly a surprise. Giant golems defending an island city is a bit interesting, especially to a military man.

"Tell me, Commander, were you sent to spy on the evil Tevinter magister?"

Cullen chuckles as he captures one of Dorian's pawns. "If I was, no one told me."

Dorian hums in his throat as he moves a knight towards Cullen's Divine. "That doesn't mean you weren't. So then what? You just stroll through the garden randomly, hoping to come across a lonely Tevinter mage to play chess?"

"I walk through the garden everyday, Dorian."

"Do you? How boring."

"Says the man who spends his days in the library."

"Just because you Fereldans are illiterate does not mean the rest of Thedas is. Besides, it's far more entertaining than watching soldiers bop themselves about the head with shields. What do you Southerners do for fun?"

"We play chess with lonely Tevinter mages."

Dorian laughs as he knocks Cullen's king over with a flick of his finger when Cullen moves his knight. "At least you have worthy hobbies, then. But next time, Commander, perhaps I allow you to win? Or better yet, you can finish the game twenty moves ago, hm?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!


	3. Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

Halamshiral is an overly decadent version of Minrathous's grand estates. Honestly, Dorian thought magisters were bad about dragons but do Orlesians have to put a lion on  _ every  _ surface? Statues are one thing, chamber pots are entirely another.

The lies, doublespeak, assassins in the night, the wicked tongues, these are all terrifyingly familiar to Dorian. Perhaps not in and of themselves, but Dorian falls into the pattern and etiquette quickly and he thinks, for a brief second, that it feels like home. Or at least, how home should feel.

It wouldn't be hard to turn The Game into his favor. He's already got a dowager, three servants, and a noble house in his debt and that’s before the first dance. That’s how second-nature this game is to him, that he’s playing it well while actively trying not to play it. It's how Dorian finds himself on a solitary balcony, far away from the petty squabbles and play for power with a drink in hand. It's his third or his seventh. He can't remember.

He's staring at the gardens below, the noblemen and women scurrying about with hands up skirts or down trousers. There's a pair of noblewomen who are  _ mostly _ behind a hedge and are doing rather creative things with a sword's scabbard. Dorian resists the temptation to call down to them and thank them for the show, but decorum and all that rot.

At least it's nothing more than a little fun, at home the shadows would be a fairly bloody.

The balcony doors behind him open and Dorian turns to see Cullen, fearsome Commander of the Inquisition, slide through the barest of openings and collapse his weight against the solid oak doors. Cullen's eyes are closed and his head is thrown back against the wood as he seems to be struggling to regain his breath.

"Is the Commander hiding?" Dorian asks. Cullen jumps a bit and opens his eyes, hand moving to his hip to prepare to draw a sword that isn’t there. As soon as he recognizes Dorian, his hand drops and he slumps even further against the door.

"Maker's breath, Dorian."

"Apologies. Did I frighten you, Commander?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be out here," Cullen says as he peels himself off of the door to stand next to Dorian. He takes one look at the garden and raises an eyebrow. "Is this what you've been doing?"

"Come now, watching couples  _ in flagrante delicto _ is infinitely more entertaining than watching those Orlesians posturing about."

"I'm not sure which is more embarrassing to watch," Cullen admits as he leans against the rail, back to the garden. "I thought you would be at home here."

"You mean with the overabundance of lavender perfume, the assassination plots, and the nobility parading around wanting you to look at her bejeweled slipper? Why yes, I suppose I am rather at home here." Dorian sips at his wine and leans down to refill his glass with one of the bottles a servant in his debt managed to procure for him. He offers the glass to Cullen and the Commander downs it in one go, handing the empty glass back to Dorian. "And you? Are you not enjoying yourself with the best finery a Southern could ask for?"

"I thought of faking my death on the way here," Cullen says. "But thought the Winter Palace wouldn’t be that bad.. I'm reconsidering that thought."

"Orlesians will do that to you."

Cullen’s only answer is to take the wine glass from Dorian’s outstretched hand once more. Dorian is glad that he had the servant fetch him two bottles of wine before he went to the balcony. Between he and Cullen, the wine is passed amiably between them for at least an hour and Dorian's approaching the point where he knows he should stop, but he and Cullen are gossiping about the Orlesian nobles and Dorian doesn't want to stop.

"Have you seen the man with the rat mask?"

"Maker's breath, the one that barely comes to my hip? He's a voice to match."

Dorian laughs as the world filters through his mind in a pleasant haze. "You're not even that tall."

"I am tall," Cullen protests.

"No, no, it's your hair that gives you the height. Press it flat and I've got two inches on you."

"I do press it flat."

"Truly? I wasn't aware you Fereldans knew how to style hair." Dorian says as he plucks at one of Cullen's curls. "You must show me."

Cullen chuckles and tilts his head so Dorian has better access to pull at his curls. Cullen's head isn't quite on Dorian's shoulder, but the Commander's shoulder is brushing against Dorian's arm as he pulls a lock of hair straight and watches it bounce back to its normal curl. "I'd rather let a dragon eat me."

"It can't be that bad."

"It is."

"You're doing nothing to assuage my desire to see it, Commander."

"Why do you call me that?” Cullen asks as he steals the bottle from Dorian’s hand. “You call Josephine, Lavellan, and Leliana by their names."

"Untrue! I call Leliana 'That wretched woman with the ravens,' but I can see how you'd mix it up. Quite an easy mistake."

Cullen keeps the wine bottle out of Dorian’s reach as the mage clumsily paws for it. They’re both far past the point where neither of them should be drinking anymore, but this is Orlais, and decadence is contagious. "We've been playing chess for months and you've yet to call me Cullen."

Hadn't he? Is there a reason for it? If there is, Dorian can’t remember it now. But ‘Commander’ just feels better on the tongue. More official. More...something that Dorian can't describe without overly extravagant hand gestures and words that may not exist in any language he knows. "I can even call you by your full name if you want, Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford."

Cullen groans and removes his lips from the wine bottle. "I don't know how they figured that out."

"It's terribly Fereldan."

"And what's your full name then, Ser Dorian Pavus?"

"Something terribly Tevene," Dorian replies with a smile. "I'll tell you when I get to see those curls."

"We'll both be forever curious, then," Cullen replies with a smirk that says he knows how horribly Dorian deals with curiosity. "I could always ask Leliana."

"And I could recruit Sera. She owes me-" Dorian is cut off by the high-pitched giggle of the women below. Dorian's rather impressed with their stamina. He and Cullen have been out here for nigh on an hour and they're still going at it, apparently. "We should congratulate them. Maker knows they're lasting as long as I did in my prime."

"I wonder why no one's caught us yet," Cullen says as he completely ignores the women and Dorian. Instead, he's staring intently at the door as if he's about to interrogate it. With as many cups as he's had, perhaps he will. "Josephine wanted me to dance with someone."

"Fear ward," Dorian says as he wiggles his fingers in front of Cullen's face. It takes the Commander a few seconds to focus on Dorian's ringed ringers and he nearly ends up cross-eyed for the trouble. "Anyone comes to the door and they're struck by a bout of intense fear. Useful when I was as amorous as those women." Those were good times, and despite the fact that he hadn't taken a paramour in his career at Skyhold, he still kept the ward on his own bedroom door. "Who was the Lady Ambassador trying to marry you off to?"

"Dance with," Cullen corrects.

"Oh, come now my dear Co- Cullen," Dorian says and Cullen flashes Dorian a soft smile for his trouble. "You know Josephine better than that."

Cullen snorts and leans away from Dorian, a bit unsteady with his movement. Though that may just be Dorian's eyesight that's unsteady. "I can't get married. There's a hole in my roof."

"Is that a Southern euphemism for sex?"

"No. There's a hole in my roof. It snows," Cullen states matter of factly. "I can't get married with a hole in my roof."

"I've never tried that one." Dorian's not sure why a hole in one's roof wouldn't allow someone to marry, but Cullen speaks so passionately of it that it must be a legitimate concern. "So you hate dancing, then?"

"Templars don't have balls," Cullen explains. "I never had to learn how to dance."

"The South is utterly barbaric," Dorian says as he stumbles to a standing position. It's not a stable standing position, but it's the best he's going to get. He holds out a hand for Cullen and the Commander takes it without a questioning glance. It takes entirely far too long to get them both in a standing position without falling, but somehow they manage. "I did wonder how you managed to get your singing voice."

"What?"

"Granted, I assumed your speaking voice would be higher as well," Dorian says as he moves Cullen's free hand, the one that the mage isn't still clasping, onto Dorian's shoulder. "Who knew Andraste preferred eunuchs?"

"Maker's breath, Dorian, you know that's not what I meant."

"I don't know that at all. Now come, my ball-deprived ex-Templar, show me what Josephine taught you most likely incredibly hastily on the journey here." Dorian drops his free hand to Cullen's waist and smiles. He leads Cullen through the first few steps of a waltz, or at least what's supposed to be a waltz. The dancing gets mixed up in Dorian's mind, but he's fairly sure what they're doing is a waltz.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Dorian’s not sure how a waltz became this complicated, but he’s having trouble focusing on the four steps. Luckily, he’s not the only one.

"I never learned to follow."

"How very unsurprising. Alas, the taller of the pair gets to traditionally lead and I refuse to count your curls as height."

If Cullen knew Dorian's lie, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the two stumbled about their dance with Dorian tripping over Cullen's feet more often than the reverse. Ah well, Dorian did have more time to drink than Cullen. But it doesn't matter because they're at a ball, and Dorian will be damned before he lets the Commander walk away from the ball without at least one proper dance, a fact he tells Cullen of.

"You saved me from the rat-masked man," Cullen says. "It's only proper that I owe you a dance."

"It is my pleasure, Cullen. You are marginally more entertaining than the two lovers in the garden. Though I do mourn the chance to watch masters at their work."

"If you would like me to leave, Ser Dorian 'Something terribly Tevene' Pavus, I can leave you to your voyeurism."

"I did say you were  _ more _ entertaining."

Behind the doors to the balcony, Lavellan reveals the good Lady Florianne's plot and makes great strides to unite Orlais between Celene and Duke Gaspard. Cullen and Dorian know absolutely nothing about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!


	4. Lyrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

Cullen never misses a chess match. It's an unspoken rule of the universe that Cullen never misses a chess match. He'd told Dorian that it was the only part of the day he got to do something he marginally enjoyed and had any semblance of choice in doing. The Commander was always ten minutes early to their games and Dorian knew that because he was also ten minutes early for want of something to do.

Not that Cullen had to know that. Dorian is always fashionably late to everything he does, of course.

Dorian waits at their chess table--alone--for a half an hour longer before deciding something must be done. If Cullen refuses to come to Dorian, Dorian will simply have to go to him.

It's only a short walk to the training ground, even shorter because Dorian doesn't truly need to approach it. He can see from the stairs that Cullen is not among the soldiers. Cassandra is there, barking orders and criticisms at every new soldier, but Cullen is suspiciously absent.

Those were literally the only two places Dorian could think of for Cullen to be; garden and grounds. If he wasn't working--and he was always working--then he was sleeping or playing chess with Dorian. To think that Cullen would be sleeping in the day when there was work or chess to be done is, well, unthinkable.

Dorian will admit to being a touch worried. Only a touched. Perhaps Cullen is in the war-room with the other advisors, but Dorian had seen Josephine in the grand hall on his way to the stairs. How she dealt with Nevarran royalty without gutting every single one of them would be a mystery forever more.

The trek to Cullen's room is short and Dorian tries not to think of all the eyes that are surely on him. Nevermind that Dorian's been here nearly a year and is one of Lavellan's closest confidants, he would always be the evil Tevinter Magister in the Southerns' small minds.

Dorian opens the door to Cullen's office softly. He's never been in Cullen's office before. Really no need to as far as Dorian saw it, as the Commander came to him for chess matches. It didn't stop Cullen from inviting Dorian to his office to play chess. It was less out in the open, Cullen had said. Dorian refused every invitation. Despite the walls that would protect their chess match, it was far more out in the open than the garden. The eyes that watched him step into the Commander’s office had proven Dorian’s point.

Cullen's office is fairly bare, a large desk with papers covering the wood and a few large bookshelves in the corner that were bursting at the seams. Dorian walks to them and runs his fingers over a few of the titles, some he recognizes and others he doesn’t. There are, of course, a large number of Southern Chantry books that Dorian has no interest in, but there are also books of poetry ranging from Orlesian authors to Anders authors. A few even in their native tongues. War strategy books, fictional heroic epics, and more and more and even more poetry. Far beyond what Dorian ever thought Cullen would have on any of his bookshelves.

A creak sounds from the floor upstairs, along with a muffled pained groan that sounds distinctly like Cullen. At least, Dorian hopes it's Cullen. He's not sure who else would be in what he assumes is Cullen's bedroom other than Cullen.

"Commander?" Dorian calls as he steps to the rickety ladder. "Are you decent?" Dorian places his hand on one of the rungs and pulls. So a bit more stable than it looks, but still nothing Dorian feels entirely comfortable placing all of his weight on. "Regardless of your answer, I'm coming up. Though I do hope it's a negative response I hear from you."

There's no response from Cullen and when Dorian ascends the final rung and pulls himself up on the landing, he can see why. The Commander is lying on his bed, wrapped in his tattered and ragged duvet while his hair is plastered to his forehead, a few of those elusive curls begin to spring back into place from the moisture.

"Cullen?" Dorian asks as he steps to the bed. Cullen isn't entirely decent, his chest is bared and despite the snow filtering in through the honest to Maker hole in his roof, Cullen's absolutely drenched in sweat. "Commander?"

Cullen groans and opens his bloodshot eyes to look at Dorian. "You should leave me."

"And leave you alone and unwell? Do you need a healer? The woman doesn't like me, but if I mention your name she'd get over it, I assure you."

"There's nothing she can do."

"Is it the lyrium? No one told me, relax," Dorian adds when Cullen shoots him an alarmed look. "Lyrium has a smell, one that a Templar should smell strongly of. You, however, do not."

"I-" Cullen sighs and closes his eyes once more, leaning back against the pillows. "Yes."

Cullen looks fairly dreadful on closer inspection. There are circles lining his eyes and tremors wracking his body. "I'll leave you if-"

"I'd like it if you stayed."

Dorian raises an eyebrow. It's a rather abrupt change of heart, but if Cullen wants him to stay, how could he deny the man? "Then I'll stay."

A small smile pulls at Cullen's lips, but the Commander keeps his eyes firmly closed. "Although, I won't be good company, Dorian."

"It's quite alright. I'm enough excellent company for the both of us." Dorian sits on the edge of Cullen's bed and places the back of his hand on Cullen's absolutely burning forehead. "How do you feel? That’s a terrible question, I can see how you feel.”

“I feel worse than I look.”

“Lucky for you, you’re always rather dashing, with or without the withdrawals,” Dorian says as he stands. “Not as dashing as me, but we can’t all be perfect.”

Cullen chuckles and for perhaps the first time since Dorian sat down at the chess table, the mage can feel his shoulders relax. A laugh out of Cullen isn’t much, but it at least means that the man is not simply too far into his misery that he’s wallowing. Not that Dorian would blame him if he were.

It doesn’t take Dorian long to find what he’s looking for. There’s a small bronze pitcher of water on a nearby nightstand, along with the rag that Dorian assumes is the one Cullen uses to shave in the morning. At least, he’s hoping so.

“Now tell me, has Lavellan seen your bookcase? Or rather, has Cassandra?”

Cullen furrows his eyebrows in the best confused face Dorian’s going to get from him at the moment. “Many times.”

“ But have they really  _ looked _ ?” Dorian asks as he walks back to the Commander. He dips the rag into the water and wrings it out before dabbing Cullen’s brow with it. “Because I know a few ladies in Skyhold who are looking for a courtly romance and you’ve got romantic poetry in spades, my dear Commander. _ The Passing Darkness _ , truly? You’re holding out on them.”

Cullen peeks one eye open, sighing at the feel of the cool cloth. “And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Holding out on women.”

“Not exactly where I hold my love, Commander. Marvelous as they may be, but we’re talking of you. I’m not the one with the library of love poetry.”

A small smile spreads over Cullen’s face and Dorian finds that he’s matching it, no matter what he tells his facial muscles to do. “Cassandra reads poetry, but less than you think. She prefers stories. Fiction and whatever Varric passes off as fiction. But yes, she knows I have a few.”

“You’ve more than a mere few.”

“ _ You _ know that. She doesn’t. No one looks at my bookshelf and thinks  _ A Blighted World _ is anything other than a reference book unless they’ve read it before.”

Ah.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I read academic journals. Genitivi and whatever you lot are passing down here for research.”

The grin on Cullen’s face turns a bit wicked as he manages to prop his head up to look at Dorian in the eyes. “‘ _ I saw thee once--once only--years ago: I must not say  _ _** how ** _ _ many--but  _ _** not ** _ _ many,’ _ ”  Cullen recites, his voice still raspy from the withdrawal but he’s smiling up at Dorian through the pain, eyes shining bright.

“Reciting love poetry to me, Commander?” Dorian asks as he tries to keep his voice level. His hand has stopped its ministrations, instead frozen atop Cullen’s forehead. It’s a poem Dorian knows well, it’s a poem most Tevinters know but Dorian knows it particularly well. The verses have crossed his mind once or twice during a drunken escape when he couldn’t quite dodge the memory of startling unnatural colored eyes. “The least you could do is make it a happy poem.”

Cullen shrugs and whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a bout of intense coughing. Dorian’s never been happier to see a man in discomfort--well, that’s not entirely true--and despite his worry for Cullen, he can’t help but be thankful for the distraction. It’s a different sound to focus on rather than the pounding of his heart.

“You’re sure about the healer?”

“Andraste damn it, yes. I’m sure, Dorian.”

"Have they always been this bad?"

Cullen snorts, "This is one of the better bad days. But the bad days are getting further apart."

"Well, I'm glad to hear they're better, at least," Dorian says and dips the cloth once more into the pitcher. Whatever they'd been on the precipice of--and Dorian's sure they were on the precipice of  _ something, _ even if he doesn’t know what--it is gone now. And Dorian's not sure why, but the thought is accompanied by a feeling of relief.

Cullen's body is wracked with coughs for a few minutes more and the good Commander's fingers dig into the mattress hard enough that he's pulling at the archaic threads and feathers poke out. At first Dorian thought it was from the pain of it all, but more and more, he's sure that it's actually barely held in rage.

"I'm sor-" Cullen starts, only to have his breath falter on him. Dorian's rather grateful that Cullen isn't a mage because surely he would have been singed, quite literally, on Cullen's rage if that were the case.

"I never thought to meet someone as verbose as Varric, yet you're doing quite a good job of monopolizing the conversation, Cullen. I'll do the speaking from now on, if you wouldn't mind."

It gains him a smile from Cullen, even through the fits of spasms that wrack his body. His bared chest is quivering a bit as he tries to find a way to breathe that won't cause him to cough or give him pain. Dorian's never gone through a lyrium withdrawal but if Cullen were on it for as long as Dorian thinks he's been, then Dorian's not sure how Cullen is alive. The only thing similar that Dorian's been through when his parents stole him away to Qarinus for a few months and withdrew all alcohol. He was far more of a mess then than Cullen was being now.

"Have I told you the time that Bull and Cassandra got a demon to flip? Barbaric. Playing with food like that."

Dorian speaks for hours about anything that comes readily to his mind. Stories about his work on the field, books, magical theory, Minrathous, and Cullen listens as well as he can. He's attentive for the first hour, asking questions when his chest allows him to, but he begins to drift in and out after that. When Dorian stops speaking he stirs but it's not truly a hardship to speak on. He has a rather lovely voice and loves listening to it and what better way to talk through some of his more complicated theories?

It's nearly nightfall and the pitcher of water is empty before Dorian decides that perhaps it's time for him to go. There will be gossip because of course there will be, he entered the Commander's office at the sun's highest point and is leaving it at the moon's rising. Dorian would have to be a fool or an optimistic Southerner to not see how this is all going to start gossip.

He stands and places the pitcher softly on Cullen's bedside table, watching the Commander a few moments more to ensure that his breath is coming easy and free. Dorian takes a step to turn away from the bed only for Cullen's hand to grasp at his arm.

"The bookshelf against the north wall," Cullen says in a volume less than a whisper. "Bottom shelf, second from the left. You should take it." The Commander's calloused hand, no longer clammy or sweaty, falls away and Cullen shifts in his bed into a more comfortable position. Dorian's not sure if the Fereldan had even woken up, he falls back into sleep so easily.

On Dorian's way out of the Commander's office--carefully planned and watched to see that there would be guards outside the door when he left--he checks the bookshelf.

On the bottom shelf, second to the left, is the book of poetry containing the poem Cullen had recited to him. It is a glorious leatherbound book with gold leafing and is written in its original Tevene.

Dorian can't help the smile the overcomes his face. He flips the page open to where he knows the poem will be, only to see a small handwritten note holding its place.

** Dorian, **

** I could have finished the chess game thirty moves earlier. **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!


	5. Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

Adamant is where Dorian's going to go when he dies. He's no illusions that he'll get into whatever the Maker's bosom looks like, and he's fine with it. He has no love of bosoms anyway.

There's fire and demons and that Maker damned dragon and Gray Wardens getting betrayed and it's all very terrible. Lavellan and a small force attack the fortress proper, but he's back to protect the soldiers, volunteering to assist Hawke when it becomes clear that the last thing Dorian wants to do is move further into the fortress. Marian seems bitter about the assignment, but she simply deals as she and Dorian keep back a horde of demons from the ramparts.

This is war, Dorian thinks. More than the attack at Haven was. This was soldiers dying on blades as they rushed forward, not back. This was Dorian stepping over bodies of friend and foe with the same sort of numbness because he couldn't  _ stop _ . They wouldn't just stop for him to be sentimental.

Is this what he left Tevinter for? Did he leave to better himself only to run his staff blade through a Gray Warden? The damn people who saved the world again and again and he had stuck his blade in one's neck to yank it out and cast a fireball at a demon behind him.

What a mess.

He and Hawke push back the demons from the gate, allowing more and more soldiers to rush to their death. But that's what they all did. It was that or a whole world dying, engulfed in flames as he'd seen in Red Cliffe. Dorian will feel bad about his apparent apathy later and he will drink himself sick to make him more apathetic, but for now, he is doing the only damned noble thing he's done in his life, even if it doesn't feel particularly noble.

"Dorian!" a voice cries from beyond the gate. It's Cullen, dripping in blood with a sword in one hand and a shield in another. It's been weeks since the lyrium incident and life simply continued on as it normally did, the only thing different was the book attached to Dorian's hip. "I'm sending in soldiers to deal with the Wardens, but there's demons blocking the way. Cover the gate with me?"

"As always, I am yours to command."

Hawke leaves to the battlefield outside to deal with some of the demons before they reach Cullen and Dorian. Dorian casts barrier about the opening. Cullen calls it a gate, Dorian thinks of it more 'a crass opening made with catapults.' But it was their best way into the fortress which means it's also the demons' best way into the fortress.

"Hopefully Hawke will let some through."

"Not likely, knowing her."

"She made mention that she rather likes your hair now."

The smile Cullen gives him is blinding, even amidst the hell-hole that is Adamant. "You're still on that?"

"Cassandra has seen your curls, Varric has, Hawke has....I'm starting think you simply don't like me as much as you like them."

"That must be it."

Dorian knocks his staff gently against Cullen's side, barely enough to move the Commander yet alone hurt him. "Don't sass me, Commander."

"I forgot," Cullen says as he readies his blade and shield at the incoming demons. There aren't many, just enough to be bothersome. "I monopolize the conversation and you monopolize sass."

"Try not forget it again, hm?"

The few demons turn into a few more which turn into a few more. Dorian worries briefly about Hawke, but the woman survived Kirkwall and he isn't exactly sure which is more of shit-hole, Adamant or Kirkwall.

Cullen's cutting down the demons that get close to the entryway and Dorian's lobbing fireballs to decrease the numbers that reach them at all. He can hear a commotion behind him of fighting, but it's getting further and further away. Which is good, Lavellan needed the soldiers more than Cullen and he did. They weren't fighting a Blighted dragon, after all.

It is, as it always has been, a privilege to watch Cullen fight. He hasn't gotten any flashier, despite Dorian's protests and many, many lectures into why style is half the fun of fighting. But the man is a master and seems to revel in the chance to actually get out and use his skills. Not that he would want to be on the battlefield everyday, Dorian suspects that would wear on him mentally, but a soldier needs to be a soldier.

The flow of demons gets worse and soon Dorian's having to cast glyphs and short-range spells just to keep the damn things off of Cullen and himself. It's never-ending, the bodies and blades coming at him faster and in more numbers than he's ever had to face with Lavellan on the field. Dorian raises what demons he can to fight on their side, but even the added numbers simply aren't enough to keep up.

And then the ground shakes, quakes the likes of which not even the avalanche at Haven could rival. Dorian risks a glance backwards, pushing out a force blast as he does to stagger the demons. At the heart of the fortress, the body of the Blighted dragon is tumbling down what looks like a bridge, the massive stones falling and crumbling beneath its body to land on the ground below and another tremor wracks the earth.

But there are people on that bridge, running at a pace that simply can't keep up with the amount of stone falling beneath them. The first one to fall is the only one recognizable to Dorian, and that's only because of the bright green light extending from the person.

Dorian doesn't even time to shout Lavellan's name before a rift is opened up before her and the remaining people who fell off the bridge are sucked into the rift she created. And then it's gone, her along with it.

Gone. Into a rift.

Dorian turns back onto the battlefield, throwing out a force blast with a bit of fire in it. Lavellan will be fine. She's always  _ fine _ .The least he can do is guard this damned opening as if his life depends on it.

The fire from his blast dies down and Dorian's able to see out onto the battlefield once more, to the demons and Cullen. Cullen is looking at Dorian's feet with shock on his face, his mouth slightly agape and it takes Cullen staggering forward before Dorian realizes why that is. The armor about Cullen's stomach is staining rapidly in red as the Commander yanks a blade from his side, a strangled cry not quite making it from his lips.

"Cullen!" Dorian cries as he races towards the Commander who was still, Maker damn the man, swinging his sword about and cutting down demons. The wound in his side bleeds heavier with every motion, but the blood and the stumbles in Cullen's steps are the only indication that the Commander intends to slow down. 

There's a glance of a blade at Dorian's shoulder and a demon claws at his arm deep enough to rip the belts free, but it doesn't register. The only thing Dorian can see is Cullen, his wounds, and the onslaught of demons. By the time Dorian makes it, Cullen is swinging his sword from his knees, head down and panting.

Dorian casts a barrier about his staff, mixing in some lightning and something else, he's not quite sure. His magic is fluctuating about him and it gets into the barrier spell. All he can do is push that magic a bit and extend his barrier outward as he rams the blade of his staff into the ground, hoping the barrier is enough to cover him and Cullen until help comes.

Dorian pulls the sword from Cullen's grip and it parts from the Commander’s hand too easily as Cullen stumbles into Dorian's arms. The only thing Dorian can do is allow them to fall to the ground, pulling Cullen's plate mail off as he attempts to put pressure on the wound.

"You're fine," Dorian says as he calls forth the only healing spell he knows. "You’re fine, Cullen just- just tell me what to do."

"Pressure," Cullen rasps as he places his hands atop Dorian's and pushes against the wound. "I'll be fine."

"Of course you will. I said you will and I've yet to be wrong. It'll be a lovely scar to match all your others and we will laugh about it over chess while you try to defend that hole in the roof to me once more."

"Dorian-"

"And as a thank you present for staying alive, I'll show you  _ real  _ Tevinter poetry. The kind that would make even Leliana weep. Sera too, if she understood half the words, that is."

"Dorian," Cullen says, his voice stronger than it was a moment ago. But when Cullen looks at him, it's not in humor or in good spirits. It's the look Dorian's seen on the mirror one too many times. Staring back at Dorian is the same look he wore himself when he stood alone at Haven’s Chantry doors. "I'm fine."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in Dorian's throat as he presses down on the wound, funneling whatever sort of magic he can into it. He's not supposed to use magic on Cullen, promised not to, but he'd rather face any hatred Cullen had to throw his way than let him die right here. "Leliana hasn't taught you how to deceive."

"She doesn't need to."

"Fasta vass, Cullen, will you stop talking?!"

Cullen's fingers intertwine with his as they both press on the wound, blood coating both of their hands as Dorian wracks his brain for anything, anything at all that will just help Cullen. The demons are skirting around the barrier Dorian erected. A few of the braver or less intelligent ones knock their weapons against the green and sparking barrier only for the barrier to spark and char them.

"I was sent to the garden," Cullen says as he breathing becomes deeper and slower. "After Haven I couldn't...You cast a barrier on me and I couldn't...." Cullen's voice trails off, but Dorian knows where it's going. Cullen has a strict 'no-magic' policy, one that Dorian found out about only after Haven and after a few choice words that Cassandra lobbed at him. "I'm glad they sent me."

"Don't you dare start with this, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. I'll kill you myself and revive you if I so much as imagine a farewell in your voice. It's only a flesh wound. Hawke will save you, it'll be a marvelous change of pace, really."

The words sprang from his lips, but he can do little about Cullen's eyes closing and his body slumping. His breath still comes, thank the Maker, but the rise and fall of his chest is slower, softer. Dorian's barrier pushes outwards as he loses all control of his magic, the surrounding area burning to a complete crisp and the lightning and flames turning everything it touches into ash.

_ "'I saw but them—saw only them for hours, Saw only them until the moon went down,'" _ Cullen recites in the broken Tevene of a man who only barely knows the tongue. Dorian chokes back what might be a sob, he's not sure. Because he knows how this poem ends, how it always has ended, and he's in the wrong spot. And how he would give anything, anything the Maker Himself asked for, to switch spots.

Dorian keeps a hand on Cullen's wound and the other at his neck, simply reassuring himself that a pulse is there. It hasn't fluttered away. It  _ won't _ flutter away.

But it does diminish. It does slow.

"I stole a book from you," Dorian tells a Cullen who was probably not awake. "Not the one you gave me, it’s not quite stealing if I did that. I went back a week after you see, and plucked a book of Fereldan poetry off your shelf. Cassandra's got the right of it, by the way, you lot are terrible at poetry. But I took the most well-worn one I could find and opened it. Afterall, if a Fereldan could recite a Tevinter poem to a Vint, surely I could do the opposite. It's not hard.

"I memorized the poem the book opened to. Terribly gauche poem with little imagery, it was as easy as I suspected. But I-" Dorian stops and takes a breath, still feeling for the faint pulse of the Commander. "I can't remember any of it now. I memorized it to recite to you like some Maker forsaken love-sick adolescent and I will not be denied. Not by you and not by whatever fucking god rules this world."

The fingers above Dorian's tighten for the smallest moment before falling lax and limp. Dorian scrambles to chase after Cullen's pulse, moving his fingers about his neck even though his pulse is in the same spot. Slower and slower yet.

"Sparkler!" a voice calls from behind him, through the opening that he and Cullen were trying to protect.

"He has a pulse!" Dorian calls back as Varric runs towards him, a few soldiers right behind him. "He has a pulse," he repeats as the soldiers try to pry Cullen from his grasp. They only succeed when Varric grabs his arm and pulls it away, murmuring softly to Dorian "We got him Sparkler, don't worry. He's in good hands."

"He has a pulse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!


	6. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my submission with the amazing ohmydragonlords who seriously put up with a lot of crap from my end, and she was amazing. You can see her artwork [here](http://the-lady-magician.tumblr.com/post/129350478897/fyeahcullrian-title-held-sub-title), [here](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175382?hash=b6e2d41b238d91034e&dl=1fa0bbd940d67715d9), and [here.](http://vk.com/doc221384670_418175431?hash=56f161c763eb7584aa&dl=ec532b40b1557f7d76) Seriously guys, it's amazing artwork. Please go look at it.

There are a myriad of things that Dorian could be doing. He could be helping Lavellan in the field or Josephine with her diplomats or reclaiming his spot in the library. Instead, he's sitting in a chair at Cullen's bedside, just as he had been for weeks. The healer said it would take awhile for him to recover, and Dorian's magic at Adamant had only hurt Cullen's recovery time by a substantial amount.

But Cullen was there and Dorian didn't know which deity to thank for that, so he simply thanked them all.

He read aloud from a book of poems that he had, in their original Tevene. It didn't matter if Cullen didn't know all the words, the man was asleep. He only read to fill the silence that was threatening to push him to the floor if he allowed it to linger.

On this day, however, in the middle of another Tevene poem, Cullen stirs. It's not much, a simple furrow of the eyebrows, but Dorian snaps the book shut and leans forward, watching for any signs of Cullen waking further. Long minutes pass and finally, after watching Cullen shift about, he cracks opens his eyes. The golden eyes that had been haunting Dorian for weeks, the ones he never thought he'd see again, they were finally open.

"It's good to see you, Commander."

Cullen shifts again, blinking against the harsh sunlight but those lips are already curled into a smile. "Of course it is," Cullen rasps out. 

"You've been in here for twenty-two days, you have a rather magnificent scar on your side--as I said you would--and you are fine--again--as I said you would be. Which I believes places me well within the range of  _ always  _ being right."

Cullen's smile widens and he lifts a shaking, tentative hand to weakly wrap around one of Dorian's hands. He pulls at the mage weakly, unable to muster the strength for what he's actually wanting, but Dorian isn't so slow to catch on. He lies down beside Cullen, keeping the Commander's hand in between his own.

The warm hand with a steady and strong pulse. The same hand that fell limply against Dorian’s own weeks ago. The one he’d barely let go of since. 

"Renatus Augustine," Dorian says after a long while.

Cullen makes a questioning sound as he turns his head slowly, carefully, in Dorian's direction. His eyebrows are furrowed and though Cullen's been asleep for weeks, his eyes are still rimmed in dark circles and fatigue.

"My name. Dorian Renatus Augustine Pavus. I figure it's only fair," Dorian finishes as he runs his free hand through Cullen's curls, the ones that haven't been styled in weeks. They were quite impressive curls in Dorian's books.

"Cheater,” Cullen says, but he’s smiling and that's more than worth the price of Dorian’s name. "What happened...Adamant?"

"We won, obviously. Hawke was waiting for you and I in a field, Lavellan walked physically in the Fade, Varric saved your life, all very rudimentary things when you think about it. Also, we now have the Gray Wardens to count as allies and Lavellan is off with Bull to fight dragons. Secure new keeps as well, but I've the feeling that's rather secondary."

Cullen nods, as much as he can and relaxes against Dorian's shoulder. "The poem," Cullen says, "at Adamant. Which did you forget?"

"Ah yes. That poem," Dorian replies as he shifts closer to Cullen, offering his chest as a pillow. "Terribly complicated for a Fereldan, but I'll see if I can remember it all." Dorian clears his throat,  _ "'Roses are red, violets are blu-" _

There's a quick and violent squeeze to Dorian's hand and it makes the mage laugh, even as Cullen is glaring at him. Dorian responds by curling an arm around Cullen and pulling him closer. One day he'll tell Cullen but today...today this is far more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and really function as my life's blood!!! You can find me on [tumblr](the-lady-magician.tumblr.com) where I reblog all the Dragon Age things and take Cullrian prompts!
> 
> This is actually the second ending that I had written for it. The first ending is HELLA angsty so I decided not to put you guys through it. If you want to brave it, though, and you're curious I do have it on a Google doc that you can see [here.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Yl96f9G4S_UWRq9fY2kaI51_zJjcZoFlVrlQenxms9Y/edit?usp=sharing) Fair warning though, it's hella angsty.


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